


kiss me goodbye

by RiverOfFandoms



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-01-24 13:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18572236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverOfFandoms/pseuds/RiverOfFandoms
Summary: a lonely boy wanders into the diner you work at and the potential for connection is quickly realised.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> even though Gale died in the finale of season 3, this is set in season 4 because it centers around the aftermath of killing Gale. Just in any case of confusion.

The young guy who came in yesterday, and the day before, was there again in the same booth by the window; the corner of the diner. He was wearing the same clothes, a dark thin jacket over an over-sized graphic tee and dark jeans. His head shaven and his eyes red-rimmed, his leg jiggled nervously up and down underneath the booth’s table.

You were concerned, to say the least, but it wasn’t anything new. Lots of people made their way into this diner and unfortunately, lots of them weren’t doing so well. But you always did your best to at least serve them well and try to brighten up their day a bit.

He’d been coming in and ordering the same thing each time: coffee and a donut. He’d barely touch the donut, a few bites maybe, but he would drink the entirety of the cup. Leave a tip, and that was it.

You hadn’t served him yet though; your coworkers had been taking his orders for the past two days. So, when you went up to him, he looked at you without recognition.

You smiled, “What can I get you?” you asked softly, keeping eye contact as best as you could, unless his eyes shifted nervously to his hands held together on top of the table.

“Uh…” he swallowed and tilted his head, closing his eyes momentarily while he sighed, and when he opened them you realized the brilliance of the blue that coloured them. “I’ll just get a coffee and donut,” he nodded as if to confirm this and then added, “thanks.”

You smiled again and it caught him off guard, he sank further back into the booth’s cushioning, but you didn’t notice, you also didn’t notice that he felt warmed by your smile. You found his blue eyes again after scribbling down on your pad of paper, “Cream and sugar?”

He blinked as if you caught him doing something he shouldn’t, and he suddenly felt embarrassed for staring at your face a little too long, “N-no, no, thanks,” he mumbled, and as you walked away to place his order, he rolled his eyes at how nervous he was, especially for stuttering.

Jesse sat there and stared out the window beside him. Cars passed by on the occasion but other than that, the diner was pretty quiet. He didn’t really like the quiet, not as much as he used to. But he was thankful for the clattering cutlery, brewing coffee and the waitresses voices in the background, it kept him grounded, somewhat.

He briefly thought about his house, the graffiti on the walls and the meth-heads squatting there, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not a bit. It was noise. He wouldn’t be lonely there, he wouldn’t sit on the floor or lay in his bed in complete silence and see Gale Boetticher’s face looming over him in the dark, an eye shot out and bloody. He wouldn’t hear him plead with him, asking him to spare his life.

He sighed again and his head fell into his hands, he couldn’t think of him now, he just wanted a break from the shooting; it replayed in his head repeatedly, again and again the gunshot would ring in his ears; he just wanted a break from it all.

You watched Jesse from behind the counter as the donut heated up and the pot of coffee hummed. You watched him hold his head in his hands, his foot tapping even faster. It looked as though he was mid-panic.

You plated the donut and filled up a mug with the coffee from the pot and walked toward his booth. It was still early morning so there weren’t any other customers around except for the truckers that sat on the counter stools, but they were preoccupied with Barb’s breasts to care about whether or not their meal was on time.

You placed the mug down in front of him and the donut too, and he quickly snapped out of his mini-freak out.

He eyed the donut and coffee and said, “Th-thanks…”

You sat down across from him with your own mug and his blue eyes widened. You sipped at your coffee and then said, “I’m just taking my break, unless you mind?”

He blinked but his shoulders relaxed and said, “No, no, I don’t.” He didn’t know what made you sit down with him, but he appreciated the company. He liked the look of you, plain and simple, and it was hard for him to keep his eyes from wandering. He’d noticed you the first day he came in to this place and he was always a little disappointed that you didn’t serve him. He didn’t think you would ever serve him, that was, until this morning.

“Is, uh…” Jesse started, unsure, he couldn’t help but talk, he didn’t like sitting in silence without knowing what reason you were there with him, “is something wrong?”

You looked up at him over your cup of coffee, your hands clinging onto the warmth it gave, “No, something wrong with you?”

He tilted his head, and his eyes smiled with amusement, you could tell by the way the colour brightened and how his mouth opened slightly, “No…” he licked his lips, “you always sit with complete strangers when you should be working?”

You hid your smile and instead raised an eyebrow, “You saying you would rather be sitting by yourself, drinking that coffee and only staring at your donut?”

He looked a little taken aback by your words, but he soon realized that you must have noticed his recent routine. He looked away and didn’t know how to respond and was surprised that he had no words at all.

“Look, I’m just… I don’t know,” you said, shaking your head, “I see people come in here all the time, looking a little rough, and I’m not here to force you to talk to me and tell me your life story, I’m just here. You know, just here so you’re not alone.”

He looked up at you and blinked. He was a master of silence when he wanted to be. All sorts of thoughts raced in his mind but the one thing he couldn’t stop thinking was why the hell were you, a complete stranger, being kind to him for no reason at all?

He sipped at his coffee and then he said, “You sure you’re not just doing this so I give you a massive tip?”

You laughed at this and he smiled, “I don’t care _that_ much about the tips.”

“Sure, you do.”

“I don’t!” you argued, “I’m working a few jobs, this isn’t my main source of income.”

He looked at you as if he was trying to figure you out and you could tell, you’d seen that look before. He decided to bite, “Okay, what other jobs?”

“Well,” you started, “I work at the info desk of an art gallery on the corner of Adams. I also help out this old dude unbox all of the secondhand books he gets, he gives me cash in hand, pretty good deal if I say so myself.”

He half-smiled, he was honestly surprised at your openness about your life, but he was thankful for the conversation. “An art gallery? Jesus, you must want to kill yourself.”

You laughed loudly at his joke, “How’d you know?” you shook your head, “Look, sure, I get a lot of arty-farty people coming in but on the odd chance, I get a genuine person who looks at the art hung up on those walls with incredulity in their eyes.”

He pondered this for a moment and for some reason, thought about Jane. He shook those memories from his head, “And the old dude? He’s probably a pervert.” 

“Hey!” you countered, “He’s actually quite sweet. And harmless.” 

Jesse couldn’t help but show his amusement, he felt strangely comfortable around you and he couldn’t place why. “So, this art gallery: when do you work there?”

You eyed him suspiciously before you decided to give him an answer, “Tomorrow, actually.” 

“Morning?”

“Afternoon.”

He swallowed down the rest of his coffee, and rubbed his shaven head nervously, “Well, maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he looked at you questioningly, “What? I like art. It’s, you know, all _arty_ n’ shit. I can dig that.” 

“You can dig that?”

“Uh… _yeah_ ,” he said, suddenly feeling the same embarrassment from before, and looked away from you. 

You smiled, “Fine, when I see you, I’ll give you all the info you’ll need,” you stood up from the booth and collected the dirty dishes. “What... what’s your name?” 

Jesse was surprised for a moment. That comfort he felt with you; he was sure he must have mentioned his name to you already. So, he didn’t even think twice, “Jesse, it’s Jesse.” He caught your name tag and pointed at it, “And you’re Y/N.”

“Correct,” you turned to leave but said one last thing before you let him go, “See you, Jesse.”

He waved at you, and you cleaned his dishes and he left the diner with a newfound warmth in him.  

***

Jesse walked in sporting a leather jacket and black jeans, but you hadn’t noticed him yet. Instead you were focused on replying to an email on the computer of your desk which was situated near the front doors to the gallery. 

It was a small gallery, definitely not like those fancy ones uptown, but it was genuine and homey, comfortable, and that’s why so many people came to appreciate it. You loved to work there, it was quiet and the people that came in were sometimes very lovely. Especially the old couples that would peruse the gallery after having their afternoon tea or coffee at the Italian cafe down the road. 

When you finally looked up from the email, it was written from somebody interested in buying one of the paintings (a rich guy’s art consultant), you saw Jesse standing by one of the first paintings. It was hung closest to the entrance and was one of the more well-known pieces. 

Jesse turned to you after a moment of serious consideration, at least that was what it looked like to you. He had stared hard at the painting; an emotion crossed his face, but you couldn’t quite place it. When he saw you though he broke through that emotion with a smile. He stuck his thumb toward the painting, “That Georgia O’Keeffe?” his voice rang clear through the gallery.

You raised your eyebrows, you didn’t realise that Jesse could pick a piece out, he didn’t really seem like the art-knowledge kind of guy, “Yeah, that’s hers, you like her art?”

He tilted his head at it again as he thought, “I don’t know... Kind of like a vagina, right?”

You giggled, “You should see her other works.” You paused, “Also, she technically hates it when people say that about her art. She gets offended because she never means for her art to look like a vagina.”

“What?” he said, genuinely surprised then he glanced at it again. He looked back at you, “You know a lot about art.”

You smiled, “Got to, I work here, don’t I?” You logged off your computer and came around the side of the desk, “I give tours of the gallery. You want one?” 

He held back his amusement, “Sure, art me away,” he smiled cheekily.

You led Jesse around the gallery and stopped at each piece, giving a brief description of who painted it and when, an interesting fact or two, and it seemed enough to keep him interested. 

Jesse inspected each painting but only when you turned to look at him, when you looked away and stared at the painting yourself while you spoke about it, he took advantage of that and took in the details of your face. He loved your smile, he realised that almost straight away when you both had first met. But he wanted to know more about you, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you, especially the way you were when talking about art. He was completely mesmerised and somewhere in the back of his mind, it freaked him out a little. 

“And that’s that. That’s what I do,” you finished, turning from the last piece. A contemporary piece from a local artist. The gallery was a little more on the quirkier side, the owner bought all sorts of pieces and hung up whatever she felt like. You enjoyed that about the place, she kept it fresh which meant you could always learn new things about art too. 

“That’s what you do,” he repeated, he glanced around the gallery again, “Can’t believe I didn’t know this was here, all this time.”

You shrugged, “It is pretty hidden away, the owner is a little strange, she doesn’t care much about advertising it. It’s more like her own little project, if anything,” you paused a moment, “So what is it that you do, then?”

Jesse blinked. He hadn’t been seriously asked that question in a while. Most people knew he was just a dealer. Manufacturer, now. Or that he did shit all. Play Xbox or something. But you didn’t know a single thing about him. 

He breathed, it was almost like he had forgotten how to, “I work at a laundromat.” He eyed you and you nodded back, “Yeah, I know, not that exciting,” he continued. “It’s pretty shit but it’s good pay, for now. And it’s better than not doing anything at all,” he hesitated before he continued, sometimes he just couldn’t help but speak, “I also do a bit of security work on the side, you know, so that makes it more... interesting.”

“Security?”

He cleared his throat nervously, “Yeah, my, uh, co-worker and I, we check in with this fast-food chain. They have stores all over the place, we make sure it’s all good.”

“So, you’re tossing a few jobs yourself, then?”

“Yeah,” he smiled sheepishly at you and didn’t say anything else. 

“Well,” you started, getting the gist that he didn’t like to talk about himself a whole lot, “if I ever need any laundry tips, I’ll know who to call.” You couldn’t help but grin at your joke. 

He bit his bottom lip and rubbed his shaven head nervously, “ _Yeah_ ,” he dropped his arm by his side and looked at you, a look that hadn’t passed over his eyes before, “I was kinda hoping you’d call me for other reasons, but sure.” 

You felt your cheeks grow a little hot, not expecting him to be so straightforward. Before, you weren’t sure what kind of signals you were getting from the guy, so it seemed so upfront. Or maybe you just weren’t as great at reading them as you used to be. You looked away from him out of nerves, “I’d kinda need a number to call you at all.”

His eyes widened and he reached for his pocket, “Oh, yeah,” he said quickly, and fumbled for his mobile. He edged closer to you as he finally got it out of his pocket, “Here,” and then proceeded to tell you his number. 

You told him yours and he put it into his flip-phone, too. He smiled at his accomplishment, “Thanks. You know, for the tour and everything. I learned a lot about... painting and vagina art. But not really vagina art...” he shook his head, “you know what I mean...” 

You laughed at him, “Anytime.”

“I learned about crazy artists too, just so you know.”

You shook your head at him, “Anything else?”

He thought for a moment, a smile still on his face, “I learned that although there’s like, a _massive_ amount of art in here, nothing’s quite as good to look at as you are.” 

You couldn’t help but crack a grin, “God, that was pretty cheesy. But I’ll take it.”

“You better, it might be all you get, you know, until I think of something even better.” 

You laughed at him again and suddenly thought about how Jesse seemed to make you feel happier than usual, and it freaked you out, just a little. You hadn’t been close to someone in a while so the potential that it might happen with him was suddenly making you nervous. 

“I’m sure you will.” 

Jesse left after a few more cheesy jokes between the pair of you, and you were excited about seeing him again soon. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update this. I've had a couple chapters written for a while but I was struggling with how some of it was written, and so I ended up re-writing a lot of it. Thanks for your patience, I hope you enjoy reading!

You were sitting in Jesse’s parked car, shotgun, fiddling with one of the random novels you picked out to keep from the last time you helped the old guy with his bookshop – Mr Roberts, while polishing off another donut. The sun was setting in the distance, a golden glow filled the car and reflected in the mirror. It had been a long week of mediocrity and work but at least you had the evenings with Jesse to look forward to.

Jesse sat in the driver's seat next to you, he had his window rolled down, the cool, dusk air creeping up on the pair of you. His stern, concentrated face seemed indifferent, as did his unusual silence. It was a recent development, this silence. He was blowing the occasional puff of smoke out the window from his lit cigarette, deep in thought, it seemed. Sometimes you wished you could get him high enough to spill everything that went on in his mind but most of the time, it just resulted in this unwavering silence.

You glanced down at the pink box sitting in your lap, having just finished off your last donut. But Jesse still had his to eat and even though you were tempted to sneak in one of his, you held onto your willpower. “Donut?” you asked, offering him the box.

His lips parted slightly as he blew out more smoke, his eyes tore away from the street view you both had from where the car was parked. He eyed the box. He tried not to smile and shook his head at you, “You ate your half  _already?_ ”

You grinned, a little embarrassed, and replied, “Can’t help it, they’re so good!” Suddenly, your stomach rumbled with satisfaction and you laughed, pointing at your gut, “See? Even my tum thinks so.”

Jesse grabbed the box from your hand, “Guess I should eat my share…” he carefully chose one, a nice, brightly coloured one with pink sprinkles, and bit into it, “especially if they’re _that_ good.” He pressed his cigarette into the ashtray while he finished chewing his mouthful. He liked the tradition you had started, donuts and coffee after working hard all day. It was something he looked forward to in between working with Walt and then Mike later on in the night. Not to mention, he couldn't feel at peace anywhere else, not even at his now junkie flooded house where he would drown out thoughts of murder with a nice shard of blue glass. But since you came into the picture, there was nowhere else better.

You stretched out a little and the car seat groaned with your movement, your book now sitting over one leg to hold the page you’re up to. You peered up at the sky through the window beside you and watched the splash of warm colours. The clouds littered the oranges and blues and pinks that the sunset brought, it almost looked like a painting. You remembered back to the art gallery and Jesse's awkward first visit. Now he came by so often that he could pick out when a new piece had arrived and you'd just hung it up with the others. You smiled to yourself.

You suddenly remembered a time when you didn’t know him at all. Now, it would be weird, to live this life without him smoking his cigarettes with you at sunset, the smell of sweet icing and jelly.

Jesse turned to look at you instead of gazing out the windshield, “Why do you even like donuts so much?” he pondered out loud, his words fumbling through the mouthful of donut.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You gestured to the box in his lap, “They’re sugary goodness. Just the right amount of light, fluffiness to them, and they can be served super sweet with icing and sprinkles, or jelly, or you could just have plain old cinnamon. Isn’t that fantastic?” you babbled. 

He slowly blinked and kept his stare on you, mouth closed and still full, an eyebrow raised.

You laughed at his expression and shook your head.

He finally swallowed, “You’ve really uh… thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” he teased. You could see amusement behind his eyes.

You pushed your hair out of your eyes, and sunk further into the car seat, deciding on a serious answer. “I don’t know…” you started, quiet, “I guess it’s a nostalgia thing. My brothers and I would always get donuts after school on our way home.”

His face softened at the thought of a little you walking home from school, pig-tails and a too-big backpack sitting on your shoulders, grinning from ear-to-ear, alongside your brothers. He chuckled at the thought and then chimed in, “Brothers are good for something, then.” In that moment, he half-wished he had memories like that with his own brother. But most of Jake's upbringing was spent being separated from him by his parents, in fear that he would turn out a loser just like Jesse was. 

You peered over at him, his eyes were clouded with deep-thinking yet again. “You got a brother?”

Jesse paused, picking at another donut absent-mindedly. He suddenly seemed very quiet. “Yeah, yeah…”

You watched him, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t. You shifted your position slightly, so that you faced him better, the book that was on your leg now lying on the car’s dashboard, “Has he got a name?” you asked.

He jolted and looked up at you suddenly, as if he was lost in his own little world not a moment ago. He discarded the half-eaten donut into the box, uninterested in finishing it, “Yeah, uh... Jake.” His eyes darted from yours to the car radio.

“Younger or older?”

Jesse reached for the back of his neck nervously and stared out through the windshield. A moment passed as he shifted uncomfortably, “Younger, he finally replied. He scratched at his hair near his hairline, it had been such a long time since he thought of his little brother. Since he thought of his own family. So much had happened.

You thought about asking him something more about his family, conversation rarely ever went there and you wanted to take the opportunity to get to know his life a little better but he interrupted your thoughts by turning the radio on to some of his hip-hop rap music. It blasted through the speakers at high volume, since the last time he listened was while you both shouted the lyrics together while driving through the neighbourhood.

He ditched the box of donuts back onto your lap.

You sat up in your seat in response, steadying the box, “You okay?”

He sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, “Yeah,” he started rolling up his window, “just got shit to do, you know?” Jesse straightened himself up in his seat, the usual cheeky expression no longer visible.  

“Okay,” you mumbled quietly and buckled your seatbelt.

You weren’t fond of these moments, nor were you new to them. Whenever things got a little too real, a little too deep or close to home, Jesse had an escape plan. You weren’t sure how to feel about it, if there should be anything to feel at all, but it did frustrate you sometimes because all you wanted was to get to know him.

He started the car up and put it into drive. You passed by houses you didn’t recognize.

His eyes darted to the book still sitting on the dashboard, it was a blue, little thing that looked old and worn. He already felt the guilt from cutting off conversation before but it was something he had to do. He couldn't just tell you these things, he couldn't open up about his life to you. You weren't ready for it, or maybe he wasn't. He didn't know. But ever since Jane, ever since what he did to Gale...

“What’cha reading?” Jesse spat out, rather than calmly asked, he was eager to escape his thought patterns. They always ended up in the same dark places. Besides, he liked to ask you about the things you read, because you read so often. Your mind, to him, was a ball of knowledge and the things you thought about always intrigued him.

You swallowed before responding, not so sure you felt like talking to him anymore, “Just a book. Collection of short stories.”

“About?” he prodded, glancing at you briefly before he rounded the next corner by turning the steering wheel.

“Death, love, betrayal, the usual.”

He was amused by your sudden attitude, usually when he asked you questions like that, you would talk on for hours about every detail of the story and the characters. He wouldn't have to push you to talk. He swallowed and made another attempt at conversation, “Maybe you can read it to me sometime… when I’m not being as much of an asshole.”

“Like how you’re being one now?”

“Yep,” he admitted, and looked at you with those charming blue eyes. You didn't respond so he suggested, “Or maybe we can get high together and figure out the real meaning behind them. Authors always have like... hidden meanings, right? Things you gotta work out yourself, like cracking a code or something?”

You laughed at this and rolled your eyes, “Sure.”

You saw him smile, out from the corner of your eye. His eyes were on the road ahead of him but he didn't seem to be as distracted as before, or nervous. This was how it was sometimes, depending on the day, he would change moods often. You knew it was because of deeper reasons than just working at a laundromat but you accepted his secrecy. Other times, you were too concerned to be patient with him. But for now, as the sun set behind you, you just enjoyed riding along with him listening to his crappy music.

He knew you were concerned, he didn't want you to be but he always saw your worried looks. Even when you thought he didn't notice. He reached for your hand and you were surprised when he touched it lightly.

For a moment, his hand was there, on yours. He squeezed it and then let go, both hands back on the steering wheel. 

***

It wasn’t a good day.

Jesse hadn’t swung by in a little while but he blamed it on the laundromat and his "bitch of a boss" giving him extra shifts. He spent most of his time recently doing these odd jobs, sometimes, well into the night. You knew that because he'd send you a text at 2 in the morning in response to one you sent much earlier in the day. Though you were lucky if he even responded, most days. 

But this particular night, he called you.

“Y/N?” he pleaded on the other side, a crackle of static sounded as he shifted his mobile from one ear to the other, “Y/N, are you home?”

You frowned at the sound of his voice, the obvious state that he was in, some kind of distress. You stood up from your couch, “Jesse? Yeah, I am," your eyes darted to your car keys, "I’m home. Where are you, are you alright?”

“No, I… I – _fuck_.” It sounded as if he took in a deep breath and then sighed. He finally continued, “I just… I’m outside. I didn't... I didn't know where else to go.”

“What-” You heard a knock on your door as you replied. You paused, staring at your front door from your couch. The porch light was on and you could see through a slit in the curtains, a figure much like Jesse's. You hurried to the front door and unlocked it, he swung toward the door when he heard the  _click_. You opened the door, the phone still pressed against your ear. Jesse stared at you from the entrance, his shoulders slumped and his eyes grey with exhaustion. 

You dropped your hand from the side of your face, still holding the phone, “What’s wrong?” you asked, when he walked past you into your home. He was wearing his usual dark clothing but one of his cheekbones was obviously red and bruised. 

He swallowed, his eyes darted from yours, “Nothing.” He glanced at you but couldn’t keep your stare, “I just… wanted to be somewhere else.”

“Your cheek—”

“It’s nothing," he warned.

You eyed him as he wandered over to your couch and sat down in a heap. Something was wrong, of course, but again, of course, he wouldn’t let up. He never did. He never told you anything. 

You slipped your phone into your pocket and followed him to the couch. You sat down beside him and hesitated, “Can I get you anything?” He rested his head against the cushion and shut his eyes. “Jesse?”

“Huh?” he said softly, confused. He opened his eyes and looked at you a moment. The moment seemed too long. “No, I’m okay.”

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do. You sat in silence as the light from the television spilled over into the room, washing out your skin with an electric blue. You wanted to know what happened, you wanted to know what the hell was going on with him lately, but he wouldn’t say a single word. You stared at the bruise on his face and felt something close to anger well up inside you. You turned away from him and stared at your hands in your lap.

Only the laugh-track of whatever sitcom was on echoed between you. You felt his eyes on you, but you weren’t going to be the one to start questioning him. You were sick of it. If he wanted to talk about what happened, he needed to do it himself, right then and there.

"Are you mad?" he suddenly asked, his voice wavered. 

You pouted your lips, thinking hard on what to respond with. You knew Jesse needed patience but it was difficult sometimes, especially when he rocks up out of nowhere with a wounded cheek. "I don't know, maybe."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be," you mumbled, softly. You sighed and caught his stare, "I just wish you would tell me what the hell happened. I know you don't like to talk about... some stuff, but you can't just show up, injured, at my door-step and expect me to be okay with not knowing why."

He looked down at his hands. They were bruised and cut too. You could see them bleeding from where you sat. 

He shook his head, "It doesn't matter."

You closed your eyes, briefly, and tried to not let the anger upset you to tears. 

All Jesse could think about was the shit he did. All of it. The drugs, the murder, getting high -- all of it. He didn't understand why you could be so upset, he didn't understand why you could even care this much. It was foreign to him, someone like you. Maybe he shouldn't have come here after all, but if he didn't, he might have wandered off into the middle of traffic on a highway somewhere.

He swallowed, “Do... do you... like me?” he asked, quietly. A commercial for dish-washing liquid was on. He was staring at the TV as he said it and continued to do so. He didn't know what made him ask you so suddenly. Maybe he just wanted to know if he was really a good person, even after everything that he's done.

You looked at him. You were a little taken aback by his question but answered him truthfully anyway, “I... Yeah.”

He blinked, as if surprised, “Why?”

You were staring at the commercial too when you continued, “You…” you paused, wanting to be honest. You sighed, “You have nice eyes.” You felt as if you were treading onto something unknown, neither of you spoke about each other in this way. It was something you avoided, maybe, or it was something you both weren’t sure about just yet. Nevertheless, it was there, it always was there, it just hadn’t been said. “You know how to make me laugh and… and I feel comfortable around you, I feel like I can trust you.” You finally looked at him, “I want… to know you.”

He swallowed, his blue eyes alight, an expression you weren’t sure if you’d seen before.

You licked your lips nervously, “But Jesse, you won’t _let_ me know you.”

He felt his heart sink at your words because he knew you were right. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he just wanted to tell you. If only you knew these things, he could be himself, completely and freely, without a worry. But he couldn’t tell you. He couldn’t tell you how he felt because he was afraid, he couldn’t let you know him because he hated who he was. He couldn’t let you see the real him because he was scared that you’d hate him too.

Instead of arguing or defending himself, he just turned back to face the television again, and you had enough.

You suggested he should leave, and though he wanted anything but, he couldn’t argue. If he were to argue, he’d tell you the truth, but he didn’t want that because it might just hurt you more.

He got up and said that he needed a ride. Apparently, he had walked to your house. You didn’t believe him, but you gave him a lift anyway.

You could hear music on his street, loud, and when you pulled up to the house he lived in, he got out on the passenger side and didn’t even say goodbye when he left.


	3. Chapter 3

The mystery of Jesse. It only grew deeper as the weeks went on.

Not a phone call or text passed between you both since that night of what would probably be classified as a fight. Though there wasn’t much fighting on Jesse’s end, just agreeable silence, you weren’t sure which was worse.

You were standing out the front of Jesse’s house. He’d never told you where he lived or talked about his home much, but then on the night you dropped him home you finally caught a glimpse into his mysterious life, so you came back to it. You didn’t know how else to contact him.

You weren’t sure what you were going to say to him, though. For one thing, you were still quite mad. Frustrated. You were afraid you would just unleash it all as soon as he opened his front door. So, you tried to calm yourself, until you were completely sure you were in control, otherwise this visit would be for nothing. You wanted to patch things up with him, somehow, but you didn’t want to just forgive him so easily. You were conflicted.

You clutched the coffee and donuts you picked up on your drive over, and then you stepped up closer to the door. You took in a deep breath and with a free hand, you knocked on his door. But there wasn’t an answer, instead, the unlocked door swung open slightly at your touch. You heard scuffling noises inside. You frowned and then opened the door up all the way, carefully, you called, “Jesse?”

What greeted you was unexpected. Sleeping bodies littered the floor, among trash and needles. Homemade crackpipes. It was like you stepped in through the looking glass, into a much more sinister Wonderland.

“What the hell…” you muttered, under your breath. You scanned the living room floor, people bunched up together and people lying alone, all high and probably completely out of their mind. You suddenly wondered if this really was Jesse’s home, or if it was just some crackhead-haven he called home. Was that why he kept so many secrets?

You swallowed and ignored the almost rancid smell of puke and blood. You weren’t afraid but you were definitely unsure. You stepped back out of the house and took in a deep breath of the outside, fresh air.

You had to think about all this rationally. Of course, this wasn’t Jesse’s home. Or at least, it wasn’t some drug commune. Or there was something else, something else that explained it all. You had to find out the truth. You licked your lips nervously and looked around the neighbourhood, did anyone else know?

You rounded the house to the neighbour’s front door and knocked. You patiently waited but there was no answer. You crossed the street and knocked on another house, hoping that the car parked in the driveway meant they were home. Finally, an older looking lady answered the door. She was dressed in a simple button-up sleeve shirt tucked into a just-below-the-knee length skirt.

“Hey,” you started, practically breathless. “Hey, I was just wondering…” you tried to gather yourself properly so she wouldn’t seem as startled as she did now. You pointed across the road, “I was wondering who lived there?’

“Well,” she started, nodding her head as she thought carefully, “that house belonged to a lovely lady. But I believe she passed away. Cancer, sadly.”

You frowned and looked back up at the house, you could feel your heart begin to race at the thought of Jesse moving into some old woman’s home after her death and turning it into a crack-house. You turned back to the woman, “I thought – I thought a guy, Jesse, lived there?”

She nodded again, her eyes grave, “Yes, he did. He does, he bought that house. He’s her nephew.”

You blinked, surprised, “Nephew…” You felt a rush of relief pass through you. It was his house after all… but that only brought on more questions.

“Jesse Pinkman,” she continued, “causes some trouble sometimes. I heard he threw people out when they were trying to sell the place. Janice told me he was angry that his parents were kicking him out. But I guess he got the better of them, when he bought it himself.”

You nodded, slowly, “Right…”

She looked at you curiously, “Is everything okay?”

You nodded again, “Yeah—yes. Everything is fine. I’ve got to go but thank you so much.” You waved her goodbye as you walked down the driveway and then headed back to Jesse’s house.

When you walked back in, the smell wasn’t any weaker. You noticed a few people giving you suspicious looks. You swallowed.

You checked the time on your phone and then stared at the bodies that slept and the ones that shuffled around mindlessly. One guy at the back just kept rambling, on and on and on…

You clutched your phone close to you, like a lifeline, and broke through the crowd of addicts. “Jesse?” you asked, nervously, scanning the faces, “Jesse, are you here?”

You couldn’t see him amongst the crowd, and the complete silence in response seemed to answer your question enough. You sighed frustratedly and held up your phone. You could call him, but it was very likely that he would just decline, or not even bother to look at his phone.

But it suddenly clicked; another idea came to mind.

You held up your phone at shouted at the addicts, hoping your voice didn’t crack too nervously, “Hey! Hey!” you called, stepping over them as you spoke, “I’m calling the police! This isn’t your house, so I’m calling them right now!” You watched as a few of them widened their eyes, the ones that were sober enough to understand what you were saying, anyway. But they gave you the confidence you needed. “Yeah,” you continued, “the police! So, get your asses up and out of this house or you’re all going down for drug possession!”

It seemed like a crazy idea; it _was_ a crazy idea. But the thought of Jesse living in this mess… whatever happened to cause it, you just wanted to help him get out of it.

“Get up, get up, get up!” You held the phone up and pretended to dial 9-1-1, while they scrambled out of the house one after the other. You watched as they fled the house, as they trampled over the front lawn and dispersed into the quiet street. Janice and that lady would have a field day, if they were spying on Jesse’s house now. You sighed, but it was better to have two elderly women gossiping than a whole group of junkies invading Jesse’s home. You turned from the front door and suddenly noticed all of the shit they left on Jesse’s floor.

You cautiously checked upstairs and the basement, and thankfully, everyone was gone. It seemed they were all just secluded in the living room. But now they had all bolted and just a pile of mess was left behind.

You stood in the middle of the living room, hands on hips as you stared at the graffiti on the wall, “God, Jesse… what the hell happened to you?”

* * *

It didn’t take you too long to clean up the mess they left behind. You had the day off from work, anyway, and you would feel bad for just leaving the house in the state that it was. And what if the junkies just decided to come back? They could walk on in with the unlocked front door.

You used protective gear around the nasty stuff and even called one of those trash-collecting companies to deal with the heap of garbage on the floor.

That was the easy part. The hard part was scrubbing away at the obscene graffiti on Jesse’s walls. You laughed at a few of the tags and dumb jokes they left but you, of course, couldn’t leave it up on the walls for much longer. It had to come down.

It was early evening when you got to the graffiti, sponge and scrubber in hand. You had just started cleaning the spray-paint off when you suddenly wondered if Jesse was ever even going to come back to this place. He must be working but how long are laundromat shifts, anyway? You suddenly realized that you weren’t even completely sure of what he did there, and it only reminded you how secretive the guy had been.

You were deep in thought about Jesse’s whereabouts when you heard the front door swing open. Startled, you turned at the sound and saw a dark, hooded figure in the doorway. You were about to yell at it and threaten the police again, thinking it was one of the junkies from earlier, but it wasn’t.

He paused at the entry to look at you and then he shrugged off his hood. It was Jesse. He stared at you from across the room, his blue eyes big.

You looked back at him, wet sponge in hand, no words came to mind.

“Y/N?” he seemed to be in disbelief but it soon grew into some kind of anger or frustrated confusion.

You jumped down from the stool you were using to reach the graffiti. Jesse couldn’t keep his eyes off the clean floor, and the lack of addicts wandering his halls. You swallowed nervously, “Uh… I… Hey…”

He finally looked at you, incredulous, “ _What the hell_?” he raised his hands to gesture his surprise.

You gulped, “I… I came over with coffee,” you started, floundering for speech and words and things that people used to communicate, “and donuts.”

Jesse only stared at you as if you had lost your mind.

“I… I came in and all of these people were everywhere, Jesse…” you shook your head, “I couldn’t _see_ you—”

“So, you… what, told them to get out of _my_ house?”

“Yeah,” you replied truthfully, “yeah, I did.”

He blinked, “If I wanted them out, I would’ve done it myself—”

“What do you mean, if you wanted them out!?” you retorted, shaking your head, “You can’t just live with—”

“ _I_ can do what _I_ want!” he yelled back, exasperated. He was pissed, you’d obviously crossed the line, but you didn’t quite understand what line that was. “Why are you here? Why are you doing this? Cleaning my walls,” he angrily pointed to the sponge in your hand, “cleaning my house!?” He was furious and you couldn’t understand why. You thought you were helping them.

“I wanted to help you—”

He interjected, “I don’t _need_ your help, I don’t need you to… what, rescue me? Is that what you’re trying to do!?” Jesse was overwhelmed with emotion, he was struggling to keep it all together, especially after the shitty few weeks he’s had working for Mr. White. He suddenly laughed, an awful, mocking laugh that hurt you more than he thought, “Like, what are you, my _mother_?”

His explosion of anger surprised you. You knew he couldn’t possibly be this mad just because of you but it was so hard for you to not resolve to screaming at him until the sun came up.

Your face grew hot with retaliated anger, “I wasn’t trying to rescue you, Jesse. And no, I’m not your _mother_!” you huffed as your chest heaved, “I was concerned and I’m allowed to be! You’ve been acting weird and distant; I didn’t know what the fuck I was supposed to do! I didn’t know what the fuck you wanted from me, but I knew something was wrong. Something _is_ wrong! And I know you won’t tell me because you never tell me anything, but I had to do something to help because I care about your stupid-ass!”

His jaw hardened at this, he hated seeing you this upset but all he could think about was that you didn’t deserve to have to care about a piece of shit like him. He swallowed his emotion, despite how much he cared for you, and said the worst possible thing he could so you would be free of him, “You know, I never asked you to care,” he paused, almost reluctant, “I never asked you to sit with me at the diner.”

You felt your anger burst within you and tried to swallow it down, tears formed in your eyes and you tried your best to shake them away, “I know you didn’t. But you never asked me to leave.”

“Well, I’m asking you to now.”

You couldn’t help but feel gutted by his words. He knew what he was doing to you and he did it anyway. You dropped the sponge and grabbed up your bag and headed towards the front door. “You know, for the record Jesse, I really like you.” You locked onto his eyes, you could see the regret already pooling in their watery blue, “Whatever it is that’s making you act like such a—such a _pussy_ , I advise you get the fuck over it before it buries you too deep.”

Your words stung Jesse. He tried to reach for you, he tried to stop you from leaving but you dodged his attempts and walked briskly out the door and over the wet lawn.

“Y/N!” Jesse shouted as he ran out of the house after you, “Y/N, _wait_!”

You stopped walking. You couldn’t turn to look at him because of how angry you were.

You felt his hand on your shoulder.

You reluctantly turned to him, clutching your bag tightly to your chest. He watched you a moment before he finally spoke, “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed.

“I-I didn’t… I wasn’t planning on meeting someone like you. It couldn’t be worse timing,” he sniffed and kicked at the grass, “I’m a mess right now. I don’t…”

You shook his hand from your shoulder, “Clearly.”

He sighed, his eyes looking to you desperately, “Please.”

You stared long and hard at him. “What do you mean someone like me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and then looked to his feet. “You know…” he caught your eyes again, “Someone I feel comfortable around. Someone I could trust. Someone I want to know.”

You shook your head at him, “You don’t want to trust me. You won’t even talk to me—”

“It’s hard, alright?” he interrupted, and you saw the honesty in his eyes. “It’s… not easy, not like it used to be.”

“Okay,” you breathed, pausing, “okay.”

“But I can try.”

You digested his words. It was one thing to just say these things, but it was another to actually mean it. You swallowed, and then finally responded, “But will you? Try, for real?”

He nodded. And there was silence, but it soon passed. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, “You know…” he started, carefully, tearing his eyes away from his feet, “I used to dream about becoming a superhero.”

You looked up at him, confused, was he joking? You fought the urge to roll your eyes at him, you knew he was just saying it as a pathetic way to calm your anger.

“Yeah,” he continued, “the super tight underwear over the pants and everything. The whole shebang.”

You stared at him and couldn’t help but feel slightly amused.

He could see that, so he kept going, “I drew all sorts of ideas for a costume.” He stepped closer to you, “Actually, I drew so much shit when I was a kid that it ended up on the walls half the time, and my parents were mad as hell at me.”

You smiled at the thought of a mini Jesse, probably still wearing over-sized hoodies, drawing superheroes on the walls. It made you laugh out loud.

Jesse smiled at your laughter, his eyes bright, “Yeah, no kidding,” he laughed too.

You twisted your mouth, trying to hide your amusement, “Is that why there’s so much graffiti on your walls?” you jabbed at him, jokingly.

He shook his head, knowing you would get back at him somehow and said softly, “They look like superhero drawings to you?”

You smiled, “Guess not. But that does remind me, I wasn’t quite finished with scrubbing it off.”

He smiled too, his eyes kind, “Then I guess we better get back to it.” He paused, his hands deep in his pockets, “If you want to.”

“I want to.”

You followed him up back into the house and got to work. There was only one more wall to wash, so you washed it together. It didn’t take long before you finished, and you ended up sitting on the damp floor listening to Jesse’s childhood stories. And boy, was he some wild child. You half-wished you were friends back then, but the other half of you knew he probably would have been a bad influence.

“Thanks,” he said, and he meant it. “I know I… exploded earlier and said some mean things, but what you did for me… I really—”

You stopped him, “It’s okay. I know.”

He looked at his hands in his lap, “I think I just... No one’s ever done that.” He looked up at you, “No one has ever done something that nice for me before and it... it scared me a little.”

You reached for his hand, he held yours too.

He swallowed.

“Can I ask what happened?”

He felt his chest tighten. He wasn’t sure how to explain it to you let alone to anyone at all. It didn’t make sense. “I was... afraid of being alone.”

You could see that he didn’t want to say much more so you decided not to push it. That was enough for you. It would be a slow process, but you believed you could both get there in the end. 

You squeezed his hand. 

He caught your eyes and they were a brilliant blue in the fading light of dusk. He held them there, for a moment. Then he leaned over the floor closer to you, on his knees, one hand keeping him up, the other found its place on your neck; thumb on jaw. He tilted your head up slightly. He stared at you before he met your lips with his. 

You accepted his affection and reached for his face. You kissed him back, his lips urging for more. You hugged him closer to you as one of your arms wrapped around his torso. You leaned back onto the floor and he followed, his lips still on yours. 

His hand slid from your neck to your waist as he lay on top, his lips travelled to your neck and you were surprised to see this playful side of him. You squirmed underneath him in pleasure and giggled when he kissed just under your collarbone. 

He looked up at you, his face close now, and his eyes even bluer if possible. He was amused by your laughter, “What?”

“Nothing, just tickles.”

“Oh, really?” his eyes were suddenly alight with mischief. “You’re ticklish?” He reached for another ticklish spot and you laughed loudly.

“No!” you shouted, and he kept tickling you as he laughed, and you squirmed and fought him off as best you could, “Jesse!”

He gave up after you almost kicked him in the stomach and sat back on his butt, breathless. You sat up with him, also breathless. 

He reached for your hand playfully, you held it and eyed the tattoo that edged onto the back of his hand as your thumb slid over the skin. It was a black, spiraling tattoo that reminded you of a dragon or a web. You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed his fingers, slowly but eagerly, eyeing him. He watched with desire, a burning feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time. He smirked and you couldn’t deny those blue eyes of his. 

His eyes widened momentarily and he nervously scratched the back of his head, “Not to ruin the mood or anything but… we might have to change those bedsheets first.”


End file.
